Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Novels from Top Fantasy and Science Fiction Authors

by Gwynn White

  The last of the strangled notes died away, and Erastes offered a courtly bow to his guest. “Hank Smiley—what a pleasant surprise. I was not expecting an audience, let alone one so distinguished among my people.”

  “And I wasn’t expecting a performance. That was… intriguing.”

  “Thank you, my friend. Someone needs to tell the story of my people,” Erastes said, setting the box of horrors aside, much to Hank’s relief. “Who better than I?”

  “Who better, indeed.”

  “There is a verse about you.”

  Hank furrowed his brow, at once flattered and somewhat horrified. Hopefully he was showing more of the former than the latter. “Well, that’s something. Never been immortalized in song before. It’s a good one, I hope.”

  “As if I could speak or sing unkindly of you.”

  “Kind of you to say, but I was just doing my duty.”

  “You alone stood against a mob of your fellow wights determined to slaughter my people where they lived and slept and worshipped.”

  “Like I said, just doing—”

  “Yes, yes,” Erastes said, smiling gamely. “On this point, we shall have to agree to disagree. Please, sit, sit. What brings you to my humble roost?”

  “I just had a couple of questions, is all.” Hank took the offered seat obligingly. “For starters, how’s business?”

  “Business continues unabated.”

  “Good, good. Anything going on I should know about?”

  “Come now, Hank. I shall never forget how you interceded on my peoples’ behalf during the Nothnocti Wars, but that does not mean I can read you into every aspect of my dealings. Some things are still sacred, after all, are they not?”

  “Hey, this is for your benefit as much as mine. If I know something’s coming down the pike in advance, I can smooth the way. You know how these things work.”

  Erastes chuckled, inclining his head forward over tented fingers. “Indeed, I do, which is why I also know this is no ordinary visit. Perhaps you will indulge me in a game of blinders if it is to be a long one?”

  They played three games. Hank lost the first, won the second, and was in the midst of an impressive rally to secure the third.

  “A most interesting strategy,” Erastes said. “You’ve been practicing.”

  “Not really.”

  “Innate talent, then. Impressive!”

  “If you say so.”

  The match continued for several more minutes before Erastes sprung a trap that routed Hank’s rally. He hadn’t even seen the move coming… precisely why the game was called blinders.

  “You are preoccupied, my friend,” Erastes said as he mopped up the rest of Hank’s attempted rally. “Clearly, this is not a social or even a typical business visit.”

  Hank nodded, watching his last chance at victory slip away. “You’ve heard about Hezekiel Stone, I’m sure.”

  “Of course, of course. Tragic for his people, no doubt.” At that, Erastes leaned forward conspicuously. “That still does not explain why you are here, though, Hank.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?”

  Erastes sighed as he packed up the board and pieces into an ornately carved box, then placed the box into a velvet pouch and spirited it away. “Old stereotypes made new. Here we are again, yes? My people have no quarrel with the gargoyles, Hank. We keep to ourselves and deal with them when need be, which is not often. How is that so hard to comprehend?”

  Hank had to admit that Erastes had a point. Still, it didn’t add up. There was a vital piece hiding somewhere, and neither he nor Cato had been able to produce it yet. “Could you just keep your ear to the ground for me? I’m not trying to be insulting, but maybe everyone in your organization isn’t as clean as you think.”

  “Of course, Hank. We’re a bit overdue for a fresh round of background checks, anyway. Can’t be too careful, right?”

  “Right.”

  “As a question, though—”

  “Go for it.”

  “Where, pray tell, did you get your intel?”

  Suddenly, Hank realized how flimsy the pretext that had brought him here really was. “It came from Cato. The fleeks, specifically.”

  Erastes stifled an amused laugh. “And you believe those monstrosities?”

  “Not necessarily, but Cato puts stock in what they have to say.”

  “Ah, yes, Spector Cato. Your ‘partner’.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that he seems to think himself more the employer than an equal partner in your relationship.”

  “It’s not like that. He’s got the experience and seniority. Plus, he and Zobbles gave me a second chance.”

  “A second chance you never needed when you worked in Tanglereave.”

  “I needed it with my own people, Erastes. You know that.”

  “Funny how that chance only came for you when it was a foregone conclusion that the case involved the strigoi community.”

  “We see it two different ways. From my point of view, my expertise helped put away someone you should have been eager to disavow from your community.”

  “A point we still debate to this day.”

  “And, apparently, the only one we’ll agree on while I’m here.” Hank stood, overcoat swooshing behind him as he moved to collect his hat. The mood had soured that quickly.

  “Before you go… what do you see in him, Hank?”

  He should have taken the hat and gone, he knew. Instead, hand hovering over it, Hank dipped his chin and said, “Someone’s name has to come first on the shingle, Erastes. That’s how it’s always been. He takes the lead and I keep him in check. It works for us.”

  “As you say.”

  “I do.” And, with that simple exchange, the animosity seemed almost to moot itself. His hand fell away from the hat, and Hank strode back to take his place across the table from Erastes. “Now, back to the fleeks. The one Cato spoke with said that Hezekiel Stone’s assassins were Steelskin Slayers.”

  “Well, there you have it. Clearly, the creature was lying.”

  “Why would it do that?”

  “Do you expect me to give reason to the actions of a mindless creature? I think perhaps I should be offended, Hank.”

  “Come on, Erastes. It’s a simple question.”

  “One that comes with a simple answer: the Steelskin Slayers are no more. My second-in-command oversaw their dismantling at my order.”

  “Is that still Kaboc Melo?”

  “The very same.”

  “I’d like to speak with him. Is he available?”

  “Unfortunately, not at this time, no.”

  Hank lifted a brow, the significance of the gesture speaking for itself.

  “Oh, come now. Is it my fault a murder was committed on the same day that my second oversees the tax collection?”

  “Murders. Plural.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You said ‘a murder.’ Hezekiel Stone was one of several murdered.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “That said, we’re not exactly talking about a normal murder, are we?”

  “No, I suppose we are not,” Erastes allowed. “But we are talking about a normal collection day for my people. Kaboc has been overseeing the delivery of our cut for many hours now, since well before news of the murders broke. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of witnesses willing to tell you all about how unfair the rates have become in recent cycles. I’m also sure that, while there are many mourning the loss of Hezekiel Stone, you will find few of them residing within the Reave.”

  “Points taken.”

  “Please do not think me unsympathetic to your cause, Hank. That’s just the way it works in our respective spheres.”

  “Fair enough. But unless someone proves the Steelskins weren’t involved, there’s a very good chance that my people are going to be investigating the aftermath of something far worse. That’s just how it works in my sphere.”

  “So, my people are to be the subj
ect of reprisal, perhaps even war, because we cannot prove an absence of guilt? Where is the justice in that?”

  “Who said anything about justice? Cato and I, Mayor Zobbles—we’re all just trying to keep the peace.”

  At that, Erastes deployed a bloodcurdling smirk. “Truer words, Spector Smiley. Truer words.”

  Hank couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in Erastes’ tone, especially the switch to his formal title. It was the first time the vampire lord had used it with him since he had entered the room. Taking the hint, he gave the arms of his chair a light slap and stood with a nod to Erastes. “Well, that’s all I needed. Apologies if I offended, but you know I had to ask. Case this high profile and all.”

  “Of course. We all have our masters to serve.”

  “I’ll show myself out.”

  He was nearly to the door when Erastes said, “I am sorry I could not be of more help to you, Hank.”

  His hand on the knob, Hank cast a glance back over his shoulder. “Believe it or not, you might have been more helpful than you think.”

  “In that case, you are most welcome.”

  “You’ll have Kaboc touch base with me first thing once he’s done overseeing the collection, right?”

  “Absolutely. First thing.”

  Hank had barely closed the door before a muffled screech signaled that Erastes had returned to his composition.

  Minutes later, even as Hank put Tanglereave in his rearview mirror, glad to be free of its strange familiarity and funhouse-mirror dimensions once more, he could still hear the deflating shriek of the accordion.

  4

  To say that Ann Banner was pissed—no, not just pissed, fucking furious—would have been a gross understatement. She was on the warpath, the sound of her footfalls caroming off the halls of power like ricocheting bullets. In her hand she clutched the writ Cato had presented to her at the scene of Hezekiel Stone’s murder, the one with Dolan Zobbles’ distinctive scrawl authorizing the extralegal shakedown.

  She wasn’t sure what she intended to do with it yet, only that it would no doubt be something dramatic. Perhaps she would throw it on his desk disdainfully, along with her badge. Perhaps she would force-feed it to him. Perhaps she’d wipe her ass with it; perhaps she would shove it up his.

  Either way, she had precious few seconds to decide. Zobbles’ office loomed ahead, his secretary’s desk conspicuously unoccupied. Not that she’d intended to bother with protocol, anyway. She’d been a hell of a doorkicker in her day—still was, when push came to shove—and the time had definitely come to shove back.

  She had a bone to pick with Mayor Zobbles, all right. What she hadn’t counted on was that she might not be the only one. Bursting into his office, she was about to light the fuse on a stream of invective primed and ready to go when all at once the scene before her clarified itself: Zobbles, head tilted back, mouth fixed in an ‘O’ of pleasure, fingers laced within the crown of black curls moving up and down atop his lap.

  Well, that explained the empty desk outside.

  “Damn it, Dolan!” Ann declared, averting her gaze from the awkward frenzy her presence had touched off. “Seriously? In your office?”

  “Oh, ahem, yes, that will be all for now, Ms. Brihm,” Dolan said as he hurriedly zipped himself up behind his desk and what little privacy it offered. “I’ll buzz if I need anything else.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Ms. Brihm made a beeline for the door, shooting an icy glare at Ann along the way. Could the girl really have been foolish enough to catch feelings for her boss? Oh, well; it wasn’t her heart he would surely break. Then it occurred to Ann that the girl might see her as competition. She nearly busted a gut laughing at the thought, then quickly composed herself. Thankfully, Dolan was in the process of doing the very same.

  “Chief of Detectives,” he finally said, his cheeks even rosier than usual. “What an unexpected surprise. Ms. Brihm was just, ah—”

  Only when she was sure he was all inside his pants again did Ann look back, folding her arms and offering a mirthless smirk. “Taking dictation? Helping clear your head? Some other clever euphemism?”

  Dolan sighed, apparently accepting the fact that there was no way he could talk her out of believing what she had seen. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “Not nearly as much as I should be.” Stepping forward, she intended to toss the crumpled writ at this chest. Instead, it lost flight in midair and landed limply atop the desk. Still, she continued unabated. “What the hell, Dolan? You send your two goons to sandbag me on my own crime scene without even a word of warning?” She braced her hands on his desktop, leaning forward to stare him down as if she were sweating one of her suspects in the box, not addressing the Mayor of Meridia in his posh office. “I didn’t even want this job, but you talked me into it, remember? And now you pull this stunt? So, which is it, Dolan? Do you trust me to do my job—the one you wanted for me—or don’t you? Because if you don’t, you can have my badge back right now. I won’t be your puppet. Do you understand me?”

  “First of all, it’s Mayor Zobbles, at least for two more weeks. Second, you have to realize that this is a unique situation. This isn’t just any murder; it’s a potential clusterfuck of monumental proportions. The city is a powder keg primed to go off, and this could well be the thing that does it. This situation is precisely why I empowered the special investigators.”

  His reminder was not lost on her. Realizing who she was talking to, Ann slowly sat in one of the two plush chairs available for guests. She heard him out, eyeing him conspicuously as he continued.

  “As for Cato, he’s—”

  “A hemorrhoid,” she said, finally compelled to interject. “He’s a walking, talking hemorrhoid.”

  Dolan met her halfway. “Granted, he’s a pain in the ass. But he and Hank also have the best shot at keeping a lid on this thing until after the election, so I have to let them run with it.”

  “This is such bullshit.”

  “You think it’s bullshit now? Wait until Gragos Cairn or Erastes Ensanguine is sitting in this chair, and you’ll be up to your eyeballs in it. As it is now, we’re only about hip-deep.”

  Ann frowned, her mood shifting slightly at the possibility. She was still pissed at him, but she couldn’t help pulling that thread now that he had exposed it to her. “Hell, is it that bad?”

  “Worse. The numbers aren’t in the toilet, they’re in the goddamn sewer. I stand a very good chance of being the first incumbent to trigger an opposition election in over a hundred years.”

  Ann could hardly believe her ears. Meridia’s charter only allowed for an oppositional election if the incumbent first lost a decision against the field, literally the sitting mayor versus potentially anyone else. Not surprisingly, the incumbent had won every time for well over a century—the devil you knew tended to have a strong advantage over the devil you couldn’t even contemplate—and, typically, their anointed successor had an easy path when they chose to finally hang it up (or died in office, as many had). The very idea that Zobbles might not win against the field, however suspect his administration had been, was all but unheard of. If he didn’t win, it would open the vote to actual competitors, and as he had said, Cairn and Ensanguine were the most likely contenders. Should they get into the race, there was no telling how it would pan out. Meridia had only ever been governed by wights, and as openminded as Ann considered herself to be, she couldn’t imagine answering to the governor of gargoyles or the vampire aristocracy.

  “Damn it, Dolan. This is bad. This is so, so bad.”

  “There it is,” Dolan said, nodding as the weight of his admission settled in for her. “Still want to give me your badge?”

  “No,” Ann said grudgingly. She pushed her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, stretching a bit and breathing out at the same time. She felt like she’d just been put through the wringer. Straightening up, she looked him in the eye once more. “But I do not like being used like this, Do—ahem. Mayor
Zobbles. Speaking only for myself, I stand for justice. From where I sit, it sounds like all you people care about is maintaining the status quo. So, I’m sticking with my original assessment: This is such bullshit.”

  “Noted.” Dolan thought for a moment, the tips of his fingers steepled against his chin. “Tell you what. I only need Cato until after the election. After that—assuming I win—the job is yours. Then you can have all the justice you want.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Cato goes, and you take his place. Free hand, uninhibited. You see a wrong you want righted, I will give you the full backing of this office and then some.”

  The offer nearly melted Ann into her chair. Then she remembered whom it was coming from, and what he was suggesting.

  Poaching a job from a colleague, even if he was a Grade A asshole.

  “You are some kind of a rat bastard, you know that?”

  Dolan nodded, no hesitation in his confirmation. “Yup. Even thought about campaigning on it. Surprisingly, the focus group thought ‘Some Kind of a Rat Bastard’ was a little too on the nose, at least as slogans go.”

  “Hence ‘Meridia Today, Meridia for All’,” she said. “Catchy in a mindless, idiotic sort of way. What about Hank?”

  “You can take him or leave him. Your call.”

  Ann quirked her mouth off to the side. Hank Smiley had good instincts, plus he wasn’t a complete and total douchebag like Cato. He’d probably picked up some of the man’s bad habits after working with him for the past six months, but that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be undone.

  “I’d probably take him,” she said. “It’d be good to have someone experienced around to help with the transition.”

  “So, we have a deal, then?”

  “What’s the pay like?”